A leap and a double back-flip,
Then a handstand and a shake of the hip--
With grace and poise the gymnast performed
Her balance-beam routine.

She lowers to the narrow beam,
And as she moves it does not seem
To casual observers and weekend spectators,
That she must exert much effort.

The beam appears suddenly much wider,
And she seems to shrink and become lighter,
Sch is the illusion presented to onlookers
Who are awed b her great skill.

Yet the balance beam itself is no less
Narrow, though she will confess,
That it seems easier only because of training:

Allow me to sit but for a while longer,
Yes, to rest in this place for now,
Perhaps I’ll sleep the afternoon away,
For I have grown tired of my task.
Why labor now if the work can wait,
Or strive to finish today’s job
It I can do it on some later day—
It matters not if I do it tomorrow instead.
Help me to finish my chores today,
That’s a kind thing for you to do:
Oh, but tomorrow I will be gone,
I won’t be here to help you.
I don’t mind your working to help me,
So long as it remains only a favor,
Pleas don’t expect help from me,
For I won’t lift a finger for your sake.

Come here and sit at my table,
What a splendidly grand time we’ll have:
My servants have set a feast before us,
A veritable banquet for us to enjoy!
Yes, pull up a chair now,
We’ll eat and drink and eat some more,
The wine and sherry will flow freely,
The boar will surely suffice for two.
We shall converse as we dine,
There will be plenty of both to be had,
For my preferences are simple:
Small talk over a large meal!
Though we chatter through the night,
And while I may seem to listen or reply,
No serious matters do we discuss:
For I don’t truly desire understanding.

Desires which well up inside,
Burning me as slowly they grow,
Now raging in my very soul,
Then consuming me with their fire,
Tempting—my guard is brushed aside—
A single coy look I cannot bear,
The wink of an eye or a long stare:
I will be overwhelmed with desire.
A dark and seductive voice calls me,
I strive to resist but want to give in,
My heart is crushed with this sin:
I don’t wish to listen to its call—
My consent is not entirely free—
It’s not fitting of my humanity,
But what appeal have I to dignity?
First I stumble, and then I fall.

A careless word of bad intent,
Gestures made from frustration,
Or a look betraying disdain—
These cause my mask to slip away.
My temperature seems to rise rapidly,
The blood in my arteries to boil,
My eyes becomes red as embers,
Complimenting the crimson hue of my face.
The hands by my side slowly contract,
Clenching into two tight fists,
They rise up to strike twin blows
As a scream escapes from pursed lips.
Contumacy leads to indignation,
My ego is bruised and swelling,
As I prepare to quarrel and fight,
My temper clouds my once bright mind.
A curse forms on my lips,

I shake my fist in anger,
Looking up at the high-rises:
Thos palatial penthouses,
The homes of those whom I despise.
What wrongs have they done me,
But to profit from my destitution—
Or so shall I perceive it—
My curse is upon their good fortune.
I long hope for the day they fear,
The revolution will come for them,
I’ll trample them under my boot,
And then their riches will be mine!
News of self-made men grown rich—
Met by their friends’ glad rejoicing—
Is to me heart-wrenchingly painful,
For this I save my most bitter tears.
For I cannot comprehend how

A Flash of glittering gold is my art,
The metallic clinking of coins a symphony,
But these I enjoy in solitude,
Away from grasping hands and coveting eyes.
My cave is hidden away—secluded—
The sight of my treasure ensnares men:
Most become drunk with but a glimpse,
Risking all they are for a pittance share.
For such men I have naught to offer,
Not a coin shall part my company or care,
Though many a destitute beggar I encounter,
I will only tighten my purse’s strings.
Beggar or urchin may come calling to me,
But my fortress gates are unyielding:

Standing head and shoulders above the rest
I look down upon friend and stranger
Fearing nothing-no one--I feel invincible,
Untouchable by the masses of men.
I'll pick a fight when feeling contentious,
I have never met another better than I,
Though never have I tried to seek Him:
Such a person doesn't well suit my tastes.
My laughter is loud and ever boastful,
It causes the decent man to shudder and cringe,
Many say my mirth is misplaced,
But he who laughs last has the slowest mind.
I maintain that obedience to superiors is virtuous,
None who know me would think such of me,

Seek knowledge in virtue and obedience,
Oh man!
And to you this fruit is granted,
Your intellect will be bright indeed,
All which you ought to know,
Is yours but for the asking.

You get into my head,
You may dig and dig,
Trace every synapse,
Examine every cell,
Probe my gray matter,
Prod both lobes of my brain,
You can even take control
Of my motor functions--
And all this may be mapped,
Yet still you cannot find
Just which cell is it
Which knows me as myself?
You cannot locate my mind,
And you can't find my will--
Thus your science concludes
That I must not exist.